View From The Backyard

View From The Backyard
By John R. Greenwood

This is a story about going back home.

The Greenfield Town Hall 2013 

I was standing in the shadow of the Town Hall where I purchased my first hunting license and where my wife and I  filed our marriage license. That license has held up well for some 38 years. 

Today I was there to meet with Greenfield Town Historian, Ron Feulner.  We had talked on the phone a few days prior when Ron called to ask if I would contribute some family photos to a collection the Greenfield Historical Society was putting together. Ron ran across a few vintage photos of my mothers family farm I had posted online. He thought they would be a nice addition to the towns project.

The one time home of my aunt and uncle.
It is now the Town Community Center. 

My aunt and uncle, Ann and Steve Pasek, once owned the home that sits adjacent to the Town Hall. When the town purchased the home from my aunt and uncle they converted it into the town Community Center. My aunt and my mother Helen were sisters. When my sister Joanne and I were young  we lived in a small apartment on one side of the home for a short time. My family then moved two houses north on Rt.#9n where the Blodgetts now live.

My family home in Greenfield Center from 1957-1964 

Standing on the porch of one house you can see the front porch of the other. I lived there in the  center of the village for the first nine years of my life. In 1964 my parents purchased a larger home and land about one mile south of the village on Rt. #9n. 

In the years between 1955 and 1964 my life was spent in backyards up and down 9n, Wilton Rd, South Greenfield Rd, Grange Rd, and beyond. It is now some fifty years later and as I stood in the parking lot between the Community Center and the Greenfield Town Hall I was instantly transported back in time. It was as if I had been placed in a time machine and sent back to 196?. As I looked north I could see the Blodgett's house where I grew up; the place where I learned to ride my bike on the dirt path out front. That path once worn smooth from everyone's trips to the Greenfield General Store on the corner. 

Hodges Carpenter Shop 

From this spot I could see George Hodges carpenter shop. George Sr. was a friend of my fathers. He would let my father use his shop. I have a gun cabinet my father built there nights after work. I could smell the fresh saw dust. Mr. Hodges also had a greenhouse attached to the back of the shop. Standing there the smell of fresh tomato plants came back in a flash. The greenhouse was always brimming with plush green vegetables. The warm earth mustiness swelled my lungs. I could taste the freshness of those homegrown vegetables like it was yesterday. Looking southwest I could see the small field between the old Cline and Shay homes. The field where fall football games and summer softball games were played. I swear I could hear the sound of a home run being smacked into the high grass beyond the white fence that once graced the yards back edge.  

The one time Greenfield General Store

The center of this viewpoint was the building that used to be the Greenfield General Store. It  anchored the village for generations. It was the epicenter of all things small town and country. The line of Greenfield residents that have passed by that store with fond memories would stretch for miles. The stories of that store could fill a book and someday may. For now I will simply stand here and savor the sights, sounds, and smells of growing up in a place that gave me a sense of place. 

Things change and time moves on whether we like it or not. It's sad but inevitable. Our ancestors faced it and now it is our turn to reminisce with fondness and sometimes sadness. But, for today, from this backyard where I stand, things look as they were. A vintage movie clip- click, click, clicking along. Image after image of a simpler time passes before my eyes.

I see boys on bikes headed for their cabin in the woods. I hear Shay's dog Shep barking at us as we leave. I catch a glimpse of our old tomcat Spooky who when we moved to our home a mile below the village would take off into the woods and return here to the center of town where his roots were. He came back where he could slink up and down the backyard stonewalls chasing unsuspecting field mice as they scurried in and out of the mossy rocks and slanted barn foundations. 

If I tilt my head I can hear mom calling me home for meatloaf and homegrown potatoes. I adjust the Ace of Diamonds in the spokes of my bike and pedal home, up the dirt path. 

Yes, life looked better from the backyard today. Thanks Greenfield for sharing your backyards, your generous *Paul Davis waves of hello, and most of all thanks for providing enough fond memories to last a lifetime. 

Your friend and neighbor,
John R. Greenwood

Paul Davis was my friend Randy's father. Paul's right to left hand waves were crisp and deliberate--hand slightly tilted,  fingers spread wide, they shouted, "Glad to see you" better than words ever could...